It was from the kitchen that the housekeeper emerged. After greeting Grace with a voluble smile, she led the way upstairs, her ample hips swaying beneath the plain brown cloth of her skirts.
"Here ye are," she declared, as she showed her into one of the two large rooms upstairs. "I hope you'll be comfortable. There's hot water and towels on the stand, and your supper will be on the table as soon as ye and his lordship are ready."
///
"Actually," Grace said, stopping the woman as she turned to leave. "I'm rather tired after the journey. Would it be possible to have a tray sent up?"
The housekeeper stared for a moment but recovered quickly. "Of course, milady. Whatever ye wish."
Milady.
For a moment Grace didn't realize that the housekeeper was referring to her. But then the remembrance sank in that she was married now, with a new name and a title that would likely feel strange for some time to come. Except she didn't feel married. Instead, she felt lost and very much alone-bound to a man who didn't love her and never would.
After asking the housekeeper to send up her maid, she went to the washstand and poured water into the pretty china basin so she could rinse her face and hands.
The rest of the evening passed slowly, her nerves stretched thin, while she waited to see if Jack would appear and demand she join him downstairs. But he didn't. Not as she ate dinner alone in her room, nor later when she drew the pins from her hair and chatted about inconsequential matters with her maid as she prepared for bed.
Actually, if not for the occasional sound of his deep voice carrying through the house as he spoke to one of the servants, she wouldn't have even known he was there.
Dressed now in one of the utilitarian, white wool nightgowns she'd insisted on having packed, she carried a lighted candle to her end table, set it down, and climbed beneath the sheets. Tucking the covers under her chin, she closed her eyes and willed herself to relax.
He won't be in, she told herself. He has what he wants now-and it isn't me. Not that she had any desire for him to join her in bed, since she didn't. Not now. Not knowing the truth as she did.
Even so, a wistful sigh slid past her lips, a tear rolling over her cheek before plopping onto the cool linen pillowcase beneath. Scrubbing a hand over her eyes, she forced aside her maudlin thoughts and set herself to the task of falling asleep.
She was dreaming many minutes later when the bed sank on the empty side, the mattress bouncing slightly as someone sat down.
Her dream stopped abruptly, her eyes popping wide. "Jack?"
He peered at her through the dim light. "Expecting someone else?" he asked in a faintly mocking tone.
Grabbing the covers, she pulled them to her chin. "I wasn't expecting you! What are you doing here?"
One dark brow arched toward the ceiling. "I should think that must be obvious. I'm going to bed."
Keeping hold of the sheets, she scooted upright and faced him in a defensive pose. "Oh no, you're not. You're not sleeping here."
Unfastening the buttons at the wrists of his shirt, he drew the garment over his head and tossed it onto a nearby chair. "Who said anything about sleeping?"
Air puffed out of her lungs. "You're not doing that either!"
She assumed he would argue. Instead, he heaved a sigh, then stood to toe off his shoes and remove his trousers. Bare-chested and clad in nothing but his drawers, he turned. "Don't worry. I won't touch you, so you can stop worrying over your virtue. I'm just going to sleep."
"If you're just going to sleep, then do it somewhere else. The other bedroom, for instance."
"The other bedroom, if you'd taken the time to notice, is an upstairs library. This is the only bed in the house."
Her fingers quivered on the sheets. "Then sleep on the sofa in the front room. It looked long enough, even for you."
"I'm not sleeping on the sofa." Lifting the covers on his side of the bed, he slid inside.
As soon as the mattress depressed again beneath his weight, she tossed back the bedclothes. "Fine. Then I'll sleep on the sofa."
Moving more quickly than she could have imagined, he reached over and caught her wrist. "No, you're not. No one is sleeping on the damned sofa. Now come back here and get in bed."
Leaning back on her heels, she tugged against his hold. "Let me go."
"I will. As soon as you stop being ridiculous. It's not as if we haven't shared a bed before."
No, it wasn't. But her reaction had nothing to do with modesty and everything to do with emotion. When she'd slept with him before, she'd done so out of love, letting him inside both her body and her heart out of the mistaken belief that he returned her affection. But sleeping with him now would be like inviting a stranger into her bed. A stranger who might have the same face and form as the man she'd loved, but not the same spirit.
She was about to refuse him again when he leaned up on his knees and used his other hand to catch her around the waist. Ignoring her struggles, he tumbled her down, settling her beneath him.
///
For a few seconds, she couldn't breathe, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. Jack surrounded her, his body covering hers like a living blanket-warm, strong and so vitally male that she didn't want to move. Forgetting herself for a moment, she savored the sensations, relishing his familiar scent and the ripe heat of his skin.
"We can stay like this all night," he said. "Or you can have one side of the bed and I'll have the other. It's your choice."
Remembering herself again, she bucked against him, only then becoming aware of the arousal riding heavily between his legs.
"Keep that up," he warned, "and I'll be sleeping in you, not just on you. Again, it's entirely your choice."
But she knew his desire wasn't for her-not truly. He was a healthy man and would react that way to any woman lying half naked beneath him. He wanted sex. He didn't want her.
Throat tight with unshed tears, she shoved against his chest with both palms. "Get off me. I'll sleep here in the bed."
The slightest hint of disappointment seemed to flicker in his azure gaze, as if he'd hoped she would put up more of a fight and push matters further between them. But then the look was gone, likely nothing more than a trick of the candlelight, she decided.
"You're going to stay put?" he questioned.
"Yes," she panted. "I told you to get off me. You weigh a ton."
The edge of his mouth turned up in an unapologetic grin before he levered himself away.
Rolling onto her side, she turned her back to him and crossed her arms over her breasts. Closing her eyes, she did her best to ignore the yearning ache between her legs, hating herself for desiring him despite everything between them.
Meanwhile, he straightened the bedclothes, tossing them over both himself and her. Then he settled back, beating a fist into his pillow to get the proper shape.
"Good-night, Grace."
She said nothing, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Biting her lip to keep from crying, she willed herself to sleep.
Damn and blast, how can she sleep? Jack thought half an hour later. Worse, why had he insisted on sharing a bed with her when he was in absolute agony as a result? If he'd had any sense, he would have let her have her way and gone downstairs to sleep on the sofa. No matter how uncomfortable the furniture might be, at least he could have gotten a few minutes' rest. Instead, he was consigned to spending the night lying beside Grace, hard as a pikestaff and aching for release.
Not exactly the wedding night I'd planned. But then nothing about this marriage has turned out as I planned.
Slinging an arm across his face, he groaned, half hoping the sound would wake her. A look through his lashes confirmed it had not. Lowering his arm again, he gazed at her through the darkness and caught the subtle shimmer of her red hair, visible even in the low light.
Reaching out, he gathered up a waist-length strand and rubbed the silky ends between his fingers in a slow, measuring glide. Without giving himself time to think, he raised the tress to his nose and inhaled, closing his eyes as Grace's sweet rose-and-honey scent flooded his senses. He groaned again, wanting to slide closer and spoon in tight. Once there, he would slowly kiss her awake, listening to her throaty little sounds of pleasure as he roused her passions to a shattering peak.
But he'd told himself he would give her a few days to adjust to their changed circumstances. She might not like him very much at the moment, but she was still his wife. He was hoping that if he gave her a bit of space, she would come to terms with that fact and try to make their marriage work despite all her talk of separation.